


Bring Back The Dead (And Let Them Go)

by Chechilia



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Banter, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feels, First Meetings, Fluff, Ghosts, Humor, M/M, Mother-Son Relationship, Necromancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-31 20:11:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21255467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chechilia/pseuds/Chechilia
Summary: Cemeteries are versatile places. Sometimes peaceful, sometimes scary, deserted, haunted, filled with sadness or regret or love.This is where Arthur waits for Emrys, most powerful necromancer to ever walk the Earth.This is where he waits to meet his mother.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 163





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Believe it or not, this was meant to be posted last year. Happy Halloween !

All over the graveyard, plants were heavy with raindrops. The stems were bending down in an overwhelming bow as Arthur walked between the cracked wooden plates and engraved marble stones, water sliding down the leaves as he passed. He let his gaze wander over the tombstones, the names and dates written in gold an eternal reminder of the short lives of men.

He sometimes wondered if the dates of birth and death had any meaning for the ones left behind. He wondered if the dead cared. He didn't think he would ever know the answer.

Here and there a bright wreath of flowers stained the all-encompassing green of the neatly trimmed lawn, each petal waving slowly at the whims of a nonexistent wind. The flowers were the saddest part of it all, Arthur thought, hands deep in the pockets of his coat, his fingers smoothing repeatedly over the card his sister had given him. How many people bought them with a sense of obligation ? How many had put thought into which colors to pick, instead of choosing whatever the florist had on sale ?

How many had spent hours agonizing over the flowers, trying to remember which were the dead's favorite ; how many just couldn't let go ?

But maybe, Arthur thought, maybe he was reading too much into it. Maybe the flowers were there in remembrance, and simple tribute of mourning from those who had been left behind. Maybe they were a token of peace. Not that Arthur would know : he never had a grave on which he could place flowers for his mother. Even of that, his father had robbed him.

Arthur shook his head as he reached the meeting point, smiling ruefully at his own whirling thoughts. Anything to distract himself from what he was about to do, he supposed.

As he had five minutes to spare, he looked around, frowning briefly at an unmarked grave. The cemetery was eerily silent, with no church around to maintain a pretense of serenity, and the metallic gates were squeaking ominously each time a visitor entered. There was a young woman crying in front of a grave, on which the engraved dates would have made anybody curse all gods above. There was an old man bringing roses to his late wife as if meeting her on a date. There was a family mourning in frustrated silence the loss of an estranged uncle no one had ever spoken to.

Arthur was certain none of them was the necromancer he had agreed to meet, for the sole reason that they didn't so much as glance in his direction before leaving, steps heavy as if they carried an invisible burden on their brittle shoulders. Arthur doubted the necromancer would go so far as to disguise himself as a grieving man anyway, and sure enough a few minutes later he was alone in the empty graveyard.

Aware that a mere sigh would be enough to disturb the fragile peace of the cemetery, Arthur remained silent, but he made a point to glance at his watch, irritated at having to wait for someone who would probably not show up, or show up and end up being a complete fraud anyway. A cat darted between two tombstones, chasing some invisible mice, and birds rustled in the trees. The wind howled, bringing with it the fresh scent of rain.

Behind him, a voice chimed :

"You're early."

Heart in his throat, Arthur turned abruptly, fingers spasming around the wrinkled card in his pocket. Right there, comfortably sat on a high stone, the necromancer was looking down at him, his feet kicking rhythmically the smooth marble, as if he was bored.

"You're late," Arthur countered wearily, pretending not to be shocked by young the necromancer looked - around Arthur's age, and perhaps even younger.

"Ah," the man replied, jumping down, "but who told you I'm the one you were waiting for ?"

Arthur snorted derisively at the man's rebuttal, cocking his head to the side and looking him up and down, appreciative of the black curly hair, sparkling blue eyes, lean wiry frame, neatly shaped muscles, jaw, ears, cheekbones, wrists, hands.

"You are Emrys, are you not ?" he asked perfunctorily, arrogance seeping into his tone. "I remember talking to you on the phone. Yours is not a voice I'd find easy to forget."

The brunet's eyebrows rose playfully, and a slow smirk splayed on his lips. Arthur replayed what he'd just said in his mind, frowning uncomprehendingly, and his cheeks flushed red just as the necromancer replied :

"Got you all hot and bothered, uh ?"

His voice - deep and rich and all kinds of husky - seemed to caress Arthur's spine all the way to his nape. Maybe it was some trail of magic, or maybe it was only the wind, but Arthur shivered nonetheless, trying and failing to hide his discomfort.

"You would need more than a voice for that," he replied, streaking a self-conscious hand through blond locks at his nape, curled by the remnants of fallen rain.

The other man tilted his head, almost considering, as he leveled Arthur with a heated gaze. Then, he raised a hand and trailed it through his own hair and down his neck, caressing the expense of smooth pale skin, smiling victoriously as Arthur's eyes widened.

"Oh, I like my chances," he said, all playful confidence and seduction.

Slightly bewildered by the necromancer's obvious interest and yet more amused than put off by it, Arthur shook his head, scoffing :

"I hardly think we're in a position to get it on," he offered, pointedly looking around.

"Oh, they won't mind," the brunet snorted, waving a dismissive hand. "They're used to people getting it on, as you said. Besides, they're hardly chaste themselves."

Arthur's eyes widened in shock and a blush rose on his cheeks, and the other man grinned, as if proud to have finally thrown Arthur off-kilter. Without giving Arthur the time to recover, he jumped down the marble stone, oddly graceful for his gangly limbs, and Arthur closed his mouth with an audible click, least he appeared too mesmerized by the display. Watching, perplexed, as the brunet gently patted the stone, he vainly tried to quiet the pounding of his traitorous heart.

"Hello," the other man said then. "I'm Merlin. I'd rather you call me that - Emrys is just a nickname people find more believable."

"Believable ?" Arthur repeated, raising an eyebrow in obvious disbelief.

"Hey," the necromancer - Merlin - replied, his indignation shattering the seductive act from before, "do you think people would actually believe me if I told them my real name ?"

"Merlin's your real name ?" Arthur snipped back.

Merlin paused for a second or two, eyes blinking rapidly, until a smile spread on his lips, and a hearty laugh tumbled from his mouth :

"Shocking, I know," he confirmed, mouth split in a wide grin. "Sometimes I believe my mother hated me as a child."

Arthur didn't even have time to utter a choked off protest that Merlin was adding :

"My mother loves me very much, don't you worry," he winked, his relaxed demeanor puzzling Arthur once again. "Now, it's my understanding that we have an appointment ?"

The change of subject nearly gave Arthur a whiplash, the reminder anything but pleasant. 

"We do," he replied, hiding his renewed anxiety behind bluster. "Now why you would want to meet your clients in a graveyard is beyond me."

Merlin shook his head as if it was the stupidest question he'd ever heard :

"I'm a necromancer," he replied matter-of-factly, eyes widening a little to drive the point home. "I have a reputation to maintain. And besides, work's easier that way. It's the proper place to raise the dead, don't you think ?"

He stretched a bit, almost cat-like in his moves, and Arthur stared, fascinated, until Merlin cleared his throat :

"Right, let's get down to business," he started, voice suddenly cool and collected, as opposed to the easy banter from earlier. "I feel like I should lay some rules first."

He fixed his gaze on Arthur, making sure he was listening properly, and raised his fingers as he spoke :

"One, I never call back the bodies along with the spirits. I don't do resurrection : it's messy work, sloppy at best, people usually rot within a few days, clients get mad, brains get eaten, dead people get deader."

He raised an eyebrow at Arthur, not looking the least bit as if he was joking, and Arthur nodded, swallowing uneasily.

"Good. Second, I don't know what you've heard, but I don't rip the veil between the world or whatever ridiculous thing we necromancers get accused of. I only tug at it a little, so the spirits can come through. But them staying would force a scar on this world, and I don't want that. As a result, they only get to stay a limited amount of time, depending on how long my magic's willing to work."

Arthur leveled him with a cautious glance, noting his whitened knuckles and the determined glint in his eyes :

"And I suppose that depends on how long you're willing to let your magic work ?" he said.

Merlin narrowed his eyes at him in surprise, before shrugging with an approving smile on his lips :

"You're learning fast," he commented. "Last rule : I only bring back the dead once. They deserve their rest, and I don't like to disturb them more than necessary."

Arthur nodded. That made sense, after all ; he supposed that he wouldn't want to be called back constantly either, if he were dead. There was one small flawed in his reasoning, however : if Merlin only called back the dead once, how did he deal with several family members making the same request ? Did he work on a first come, first served basis ? He doubted Merlin was the kind to make exceptions, but what then ? Did he turn away the unlucky ones, the ones that showed up too late, the ones that weren't aware of the rules and only wanted to see their loved ones one last time ?

If he deemed some worthy of his services, why not the others ?

"If you're not willing to do it," he thought out loud, "why bother doing this job at all ?"

If looks could kill, Arthur would probably be six feet under by now. From composed, Merlin's features turned murderous, and Arthur idly wondered if Merlin would have the decency to carve a stone for him. Arthur Pendragon. Smart man. Cause of death : pissing off the most powerful necromancer the world has ever known.

"Because then I get to help people," Merlin hissed, jaw clenching against his anger, as if he wanted to swallow it back. "I get to let a five year-old say goodbye to his parents. I get to let a grandma reassure her children that she did love them, even if she never told them so. I get to let a man propose to what would have been the love of his life. I get to give people some closure."

By the end of his rant, he was pale and shaking a little, but instead of turning on his heels and leaving Arthur alone, there, in the graveyard, he shook his head and bit his lips :

"Besides," he muttered, raking a hand through his hair, "I'm a college student. Do you have any idea how expensive that is ?"

"Not really," Arthur shrugged, snorting a little. "My father's rich. I've been working for him since I graduated."

"Lucky you," Merlin sighed.

He looked away, embarrassed, and Arthur hesitantly took a step forward :

"I'm sorry if I upset you," he said gently. "That wasn't my intention. I was merely thinking of the people who, for whatever reason, couldn't be there when you called their loved one back. Why wouldn't they get to say goodbye, too ?"

Merlin's features softened at his words, and his fists unclenched slowly. He spread his fingers a little, working out the tension gathered there, and sighed :

"That's the only time I make exceptions," he replied. "I ask permission from the spirit first, but generally they don't mind. What I meant was, I don't call back the spirit several times for the same person. The dead too have to move on."

He shook his head, getting rid of the lingering awkwardness, and grinned broadly :

"Now, back to business," he declared. "Who would you like me to call ? Beloved pet ? Second beloved pet ? Dead girlfriend ? Spirits can't sustain physical form for long, you know, I doubt you'd get more than a handjob from her. Except if you're a fast one."

He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and snorted when Arthur blushed to the root of his hair, mortified :

"Merlin !" he exclaimed, scandalized, and Merlin cackled. "I wouldn't do that !"

"Why not ?" Merlin asked, grin unwavering.

"I'm gay, alright ?"

That wasn't quite the rejoinder Arthur had thought off, but his mouth had run away from his brain and decided to advertise his attraction to the man he was definitely not attracted to. That seemed to give Merlin pause, at least, but he recovered his confidence soon enough, smile stretching lazily :

"Or dead boyfriend, I don't discriminate. I must say, though, lube's not included in the deal."

"Jesus, Merlin," Arthur articulated, appalled, "what the hell have your previous clients asked for ?"

"So many things," Merlin replied with a shark-like smile. "So many things."

His answer got lost in a gust of wind, and a cat ran between Merlin's legs, tail raised. Merlin frowned and cocked his head to the side, as if listening to a voice murmuring deady secrets in his ear, before turning back to Arthur, suddenly serious :

"So, Arthur," he asked softly. "Who would you like me to call ?"

Arthur opened his mouth to answer, detached, but suddenly found that his throat refused to work. The words were stuck, trapped under his tongue, and his heart missed a beat, angry at his lungs for refusing to allow him the blissful rush of oxygen. He had thought it would be easy, to voice his request like hundreds must have done before him, to ask the necromancer to give his hope a tangible existence, hope that until a few days earlier had seemed unattainable.

And yet, now that his answer was a promise, now that the necromancer was here, waiting, he found that the emotion he'd thought he'd kept buried all his life was now flowing freely out of him, given a new life by this strange man, just a boy really, who offered to call back the dead just so that others could let them go.

Arthur startled when he felt a hand rest on his shoulder, light, a simple gesture of comfort Arthur hadn't thought he would receive from Merlin, of all people. Not that the necromancer seemed cold, or detached, or any of the characteristic one would attach to someone so close to death itself. It was just that, light banter set aside, Merlin seemed utterly serious, not prone to gestures of solicitude but rather of delicate and tacit silence.

"My mother," he managed to breathe out, heart thudding painfully. "I'd like you to call back my mother."

"Alright," Merlin acquiesced gently, squeezing once before letting go. "That's a reasonable choice."

His grin was unsure, for once, almost tentative, as if he was afraid Arthur would break down in front of him. Arthur smiled despite himself, his lips curling slightly at the corner, as he tried to regain his composure :

"I fear to think of the requests you've been dealing with," he muttered, the comment half a question.

Merlin's grin brightened at his attempt at levity, and he replied with a well practiced shrug :

"The worst are the history buffs. You have no idea how many of them have asked me to resurrect Hitler. Not the smartest choice, you'll agree."

Arthur snorted, shaking his head in mock disbelief, and Merlin's eyes twinkled in answer.

"And then of course there's the gold-thirsty treasure hunters that want to talk to pirates, in the vain hope they'll give up the location of their bounty. Those are hopeless, but the resulting conversations are entertaining, to say the least."

Shoulders shaking in barely contained laughter, Arthur threw an amused glance at Merlin, who seemed incredibly proud of himself. When inevitable silence fell back over the graveyard, though, Merlin's expression turned serious once more :

"So," he started again, "could you tell me a bit about her ? I can't just call her back, I need some information beforehand."

Arthur frowned briefly, but Merlin seemed to read his mind, quieting his worries with a look and a few words of explanation :

"There's thousands of people behind the veil," he said gently, "and all of them have their own story. My magic needs to know how to recognize her. A few words, and impression, a detailed biography...anything you can give me, and the magic will do the rest."

Arthur nodded his understanding, yet his hands were shaking a little when he started :

"Her name was Ygraine Du Bois," he said, the words almost painful in his throat. "She died twenty-four years ago, while..." he looked away, not wanting to meet Merlin's clear gaze. "She died while giving birth to me," he murmured.

He felt Merlin's hand on his arm, a lingering comfort. He didn't acknowledge the gesture, but the words came easier after that :

"My father never talks about her, so what I know comes from old family friends and pictures. She was blond, just like me, and her eyes were also blue. She was an artist - a painter - and her favorite subject was to paint sunflowers. She married my father when she was twenty-two. Her last words were my name...telling me...telling me..."

"That's enough, Arthur," Merlin murmured when his voice was too choked to continue. "That's enough."

Arthur nodded gratefully, taking a shuddering breath. He met Merlin's eyes with a dismissal burning at his lips, but one look at Merlin made the words die in his throat. Merlin looked sad, sympathetic yet not pitying, and his hand was firm on Arthur's arm - like an anchor.

"So," Arthur asked one or two silences later, the tension easing from his shoulders, "what now ?"

Merlin smiled softly, and removed his hand from Arthur's arm, leaving a warm imprint behind, the heat bleeding through Arthur's clothes.

"Now, we wait," Merlin replied, his voice low yet serene. "My magic is already looking for her."

Arthur's balance faltered at the easy answer. Could it really be so simple ? A voiced request, some flirting, and the necromancer would bring back a loved one from the dead ? It sounded too good to be true. Did ghosts even truly exist, or were they the figments of some nutter's imagination ? Had Morgana been in her right mind when she'd sent him to Emrys, or Merlin, or whatever was his real name ? Was Merlin hallucinating, was he on drugs, or was he simply playing Arthur out of his money ?

Or was it all true, true and mad, as Merlin's soft smile and faintly glowing eyes seemed to suggest ?

"Would you like to see ?" Merlin asked, as if he could read Arthur's thoughts, and Arthur shuddered at the mere idea that it was possible.

"To see ?" Arthur repeated, frowning a little, puzzled at the offer and at the grin stretching Merlin's lips.

Merlin gestured to the tombstones, something secret and maybe a little mischievous dancing in his eyes.

"To see," he confirmed. "The other ghosts."

In front of Arthur's gobsmacked expression, he laughed briefly, but it was a happy sound, rather than mocking.

"There's plenty here," he explained. "It's partly why I chose this place, they're kind of friendly. Ghosts in-between rarely are."

"Ghosts in-between ?" Arthur repeated.

He knew he must sound like a broken record by then, but Merlin didn't seem offended, not even amused, but instead flattered by Arthur's genuine curiosity.

"You see," he started, his hands raising to emphasize his words, "when people die, they're meant to go to the other side of the veil. It's a moving on type of thing, and everyone has to go through it. But sometimes people remain tied to this world. They can't let go of their living past, because of things left unsaid, or stories untold, or peace unattempted. They're generally bitter, grumpy, and not above a bit of rousing if they so please."

He raised a hand to Arthur's cheek :

"May I ?" he asked.

A shiver went down Arthur's spine, but he nodded nonetheless, utterly trusting. Merlin cupped his cheek, gently, and murmured a single word in a tongue Arthur did not understand. Arthur closed his eyes on instinct, feeling faintly disoriented as a wave of power washed through him.

When he opened them, it was to stare in undeniable shock at the life brimming over the tombstones. The entire graveyard, that he had thought empty once the mourners had left, was full of ghosts. And they weren't the friendly looking kind usually seen in movie, either : they looked fairly human, if a little translucent, and Arthur caught more than one glaring at him before moving away.

"What..."

"Shh," Merlin murmured. "They know we're here, but they like to pretend we're not. They should leave us alone. Don't try talking to them, though, I have no idea how they would react."

"What," Arthur replied, voice a mere whisper, "you think they would decide to haunt me ?"

"Don't tempt them," Merlin hissed warningly, though his cheeks were dimpled in a smile. "They don't look like much, but I promise you, you don't want to see them angry."

Arthur smothered a snort :

"You sound like you've had a run in with them before," he pointed out, a little mocking.

"Not them specifically," Merlin muttered. "But ghosts don't take kindly to living people telling them what to do. I've been to cemeteries that expressly forbid any necromancer from coming in. Not that they could stop me, but still. They can be pretty convincing."

Arthur gave a light chuckle at Merlin's grimace. He didn't reply though, suddenly alert as Merlin tensed, the line of his shoulders going taut. He tried to catch his eyes, worried, but Merlin's gaze ghosted over his face to fall somewhere behind him.

Arthur knew what was happening then, even before Merlin murmured :

"She's here."

Arthur took a deep breath and turned around as Merlin muttered a few words under his breath, his eyes flashing gold. A silhouette of a woman appeared before them, ethereal yet almost tangible in the swipe of a hand, the color of a cheek, the softness of a mother's smile.

Heart hammering inside his chest, Arthur didn't see Merlin take a step back and gesture to the ground, where a joyful fire appeared, crackling between the tombstones, driving the budding night away and throwing dancing shadows on the graveyard. He didn't hear when Merlin called his name, either, and the hand curling around his wrist made him startle.

"The others will leave you alone," Merlin murmured, his tone soft and full of understanding. "Arthur ?"

Voice trapped in his lungs, throat squeezed tight by emotion, Arthur couldn't look away, but Merlin spoke anyway :

"You have until the sun rises."

And then he disappeared.


	2. Chapter 2

The first thought that went through Arthur's head was that Ygraine looked nothing like the old photographs he had of her. She wasn't pale with sickness, her limbs weren't birdlike thin, her eyes weren't outlined with purple. Her smile, though ; her smile was still the same, beautiful and radiant. Arthur thought he could see some of himself in it, and the thought alone was enough to send his mind reeling.

Throat tight, he took a step forward, and another, and one again, until :

"Mum ?"

Arthur's voice resonated in the graveyard, soft like that of a child and raw with the uncertainty of too many calls that had remained unanswered. It was as if he was five years old again, on the day he first understood he would never get to know his mother. He had spent hours crying in his bed that night, calling for her, repeating the word again and again, as if it would make her appear and gather him in her arms, to soothe her own absence with warm touches and words of adoration.

"My son," Ygraine replied, her lips curving in a soft smile.

"Mum."

The sob stumbled past Arthur's lips, echo of a hope long lost, and he rushed forward, legs moving of their own accord, to gather Ygraine in his arms, laying his head on her chest as if he weren't taller than her, as if the years he had spent so utterly alone had vanished, as if his mother had never died.

And his mother, gathered in his embrace ; his mother held him as he wept.

"Shh," she murmured, caressing his blond hair that shone just like her own. "My son. My beautiful son. I am so proud of the man you've become."

She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, pushing him away just enough so that she could cup his face between her palms.

"Let me look at you," she murmured. "My son. How much you've grown..."

Arthur smiled through his tears and her eyes turned sad :

"I missed so much of your life," she said softly, as if speaking to herself. "I am so sorry for leaving you so soon."

Arthur wiped his tears with a trembling hand, words gathering in his throat, struggling to get out :

"It's me who's sorry," he said, voice a mere whisper. "If not for me...If I hadn't..."

"Don't say that," Ygraine interrupted sharply, voice firm yet kind. "You didn't, love. I chose this, remember that. I chose you, and getting to hold you before I died was my greatest joy."

Her tender smile made bloom in Arthur's chest a warmth he had never known before. Something coiled tight inside him, mixture of guilt and shame and utter self-hatred, unfurled, and Ygraine smiled approvingly as he let out the softest sigh.

"Now," she said, "tell me about you. There is so much that I missed, and you must have questions, too. So tell me."

They sat cross-legged near the campfire and Arthur did, his hands tight on his knees, elated and terrified at the same time, not quite knowing where to start, to tell the story of his life.

"Yellow is my favorite color," he mused then, almost laughing at how mundane it sounded. "My friends think it's because I fancy myself a sun god, but truly it's because in one the pictures I have of you, you're smiling at sunflowers. And father said it was your favorite color, too."

Ygraine nodded, her smile soft and fond, and he continued.

He told her how his father had closed off after her death, raising him in harsh and cold silence, with a love that never knew how to express itself. He told her about his first years and the nanny he had, who taught him how to speak french and made the best cookies. He told her about his first crush with trembling voice, and then about his most serious relationship when his mother didn't bat an eyelid when she learned he was attracted to men.

He told her about his studies, his carrier, his hopes and dreams. He told her about the footie matches of his youth, his best friends, his half-sister his mother already knew the existence of but had never met herself. He told her about painting classes and the field of sunflowers he liked to walk to next to his home, the loneliness he felt sometimes, his wish to leave his father's company but fierce desire to make him proud.

He told her about his father's struggles to accept his homosexuality, the silent yet steady support through hard times and heartbreaks, the will to love even when faced with a loss so acute it broke him. He told her about his hope to raise a family of his own, have a partner, and children one day, maybe years from now, when he'd feel ready.

And through it all his mother remained silent, unconditionally supportive, her smile bright, her eyes twinkling with sadness and mischief and anger and love, but never judgement. When he was done, nearly breathless with all the innocuous memories he'd dug out of his mind to offer to his mother, he laid back, supporting himself on his hands, and raised his head toward the sky, where the clouds where slowly clearing, their shapes outlined by the campfire. He breathed in slowly, heart beating to the rhythm of the unknown, and then he turned to his mother and said, with a small voice, uncertain now, despite the steady reassurance of his mother's smile :

"And you ?"

Ygraine cocked her head to the side, the gesture childlike in its innocence, and her smile only grew at Arthur's eagerness :

"Well," she replied, and her voice held laughter within, "what do you want to know ?"

And so he asked, all he'd ever wondered about her : what was her favorite food, animal, music, what she loved, what books she was fond of, what she did in her spare time, how she met his father, how she fell in love with him ; he asked about her childhood and her youth, about her parents and brothers, about her lovers and romances.

He asked it all, all that he could think of, trying to learn his mother in ways children should never have to, aware that they didn't have much time and yet unable to sort out the important things from the mundane, the lines between them blurred, his mother's favorite perfume mattering as much to him as the name of her first lover, Nimueh.

Words flowed between them like sand in an hourglass, their voices getting softer as the night wore on, the lingering silence a blanket wrapped around them as they exchanged their deepest thoughts, secrets and desires, laying bare the most profound layers of their hearts.

The chill of the night was kept at bay by the crackling fire, yet no fire would manage to ward off the sun itself. And so the dawn came, so softly it was almost imperceptible to the naked eye. The muted lights of the stars twinkled off as the wide expense of the sky turned a firmer shade of blue, announcing the imminent apparition of the sun.

"It's nearly time," Ygraine murmured.

Arthur nodded, throat tight. He had known, logically, that this moment would be coming, but he couldn't face the renewed loss of his mother just yet. Not when he'd just found her.

"You've been lucky, you know," Ygraine said softly, smoothing his hair with gentle hand. "This Merlin fellow is a kind man. His magic is a curse, yet he bears it without complaint."

"A curse ?" Arthur repeated, frowning.

"Oh, my son," she sighed. "He is so strong, he could rip apart the veil between the worlds. Yet he chooses, again and again, to simply pull it aside. But the strength it requires to do so is inhuman."

"I don't understand," Arthur said," I thought..."

"It is an invaluable gift he bestowed upon us," Ygraine replied, smile unwavering and so, so proud. "He gave us an entire night. He's going to be exhausted."

Her smile dimmed a little just then, as a faraway look passed upon her face, there an instant and gone the next.

"I don't think he even knows...Can you tell him, after I'm gone ? His father...Tell him his father knows. And tell him he's proud of his son."

Arthur blinked, stunned by her words, but he nodded nonetheless, the urgency in his mother's voice impossible to ignore.

A stray cat wandered next to their fire, its orange fur tousled in an almost comical way, and disappeared between the tombstones as soon as the first ray of sunlight pierced the sky. In the space between one heartbeat and the next, Merlin appeared beside them, stumbling a little before righting himself, and Arthur swallowed dryly at the sight.

Merlin's cheeks were sunken, as if he hadn't eaten anything in weeks, and dark, purple circles adorned his eyes. His hands seemed to be trembling, though they were clenched at his sides, yet he was standing tall, jaw clenched to spite his tiredness, looking so young yet bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"It's time, Arthur," he murmured, voice hoarse.

The words washed over Arthur, cold and unfeeling, prompting an instinctive protest to gather on his tongue. Heart beating too fast in his chest, he fought the all-encompassing desire to shout, to plead, to tie Merlin up and force him to keep his mother in this world. His burning desire faded as soon as it appeared, the obvious distress visible in Merlin's eyes enough to deter him. He remembered the rules Merlin had laid out, and the way he was standing now, legs too weak to withstand his weight for much longer.

"Merlin," he called out, voice raw.

He stood like his mother did, and asked :

"Can I hold her one last time ?"

As he'd come to understand, Ygraine's physical form was fueled by Merlin's power, only Merlin could grant him that gift. Arthur knew, instinctively, that prolonged touch would drain him of the last few dregs of his magic, and yet he couldn't help but ask, greedily perhaps, for that one last wish.

Merlin pressed his lips so hard they became white, his eyes shining a gold so pure it almost drowned out the wavering light of the fire. He looked utterly exhausted, and yet he nodded once, silent still, weathering the storm.

"Goodbye, my son," Ygraine murmured. "I am so proud of you."

She held him close to her chest, long and hard, and added :

"I love you, Arthur. Remember that, always."

Arthur fought his tears as he hugged her back just as hard :

"I love you too, Mom," he replied fiercely. "I love you too."

Ygraine smiled as her body faded away. It started slowly, faintly at first, her form blurring to the naked eyes, her body becoming translucent, until only the warmth of her eyes and the curve of her smile were left, right before those, too, vanished.

Arthur would have fallen on his knees then, tears flowing freely on his cheeks, had he not seen Merlin sway in the nonexistent wind. He hurried to catch him as Merlin's knees finally buckled, and was stunned to find how light Merlin was in his arms, almost as if he was a ghost himself. The mere idea made Arthur pale as he lowered the young necromancer to the ground, laying him down gently, as if he was a statue of glass close to its breaking point.

"Merlin ?"

Heart hammering in his chest, he felt for his pulse, reassured to find it steady, if a little weak.

"Merlin," he called again, urgent. "Please don't pass out on me, okay ? Merlin ?"

Merlin's brow furrowed at the sound of Arthur's voice but he still didn't open his eyes, and worry tightened Arthur's throat until he felt like he couldn't breathe. Wrapped up in his own mind, he didn't notice the ghosts returning before a hand waved in front of his face.

"You should let him sleep, young man," said a tired sounding voice. "He surely needs it, the reckless boy."

Arthur's head snapped up and he met the piercing gaze of the ghost, who must have been, in its previous life, a greying man with longish hair and the bushiest eyebrows Arthur had ever seen. He was accompanied by another ghost, this time of a woman, looking kind as she shook her head disapprovingly at Merlin's unconscious form.

"What's happening to him ?" Arthur demanded, uncaring that he was literally talking to ghosts in the middle of the a graveyard, something Merlin had specifically advised against. "Is he alright ?"

"He's merely tired," the old man replied, waving an imperious hand around. "Nothing to worry about just now, it tends to happen when he maintains a spirit in this world for too long a period of time."

Arthur blushed at the obvious reproach in the man's voice, but as he bowed his head, bashful, the old woman wrapped a tender hand around the man's wrist.

"Shush, Gaius, my dear," she said, "he couldn't possibly have known. You know how Merlin is, always putting others first without even thinking of his own wellbeing. "As for you, my boy," she added, looking back at Arthur, "cherish the gift he gave you, alright ?"

Arthur fought the emotion strangling him as he promised, his voice hoarse as if he'd spent the night shouting :

"I will."

The woman-ghost nodded solemnly, smiling at him like a grandmother would, gentle and proud, but the moment was lost when the old man grumbled :

"Also, you should be careful," he said as he started looking around, bushy eyebrows gathered in a deep frown. "The boy has those two wretched creatures that keep him company, they usually follow him everywhere but I haven't seen..."

A loud screeching sound interrupted him, and suddenly the stray cat Arthur had seen earlier came barreling in, fluffy tail raised behind him in an obvious - and failed - attempt at appearing menacing. It placed a possessive paw on Merlin's chest, meowing louder and louder until Arthur leaned back, allowing the cat to curl up against him. Its yellow eyes never left Arthur, bright and reproachful, not even when a loud hooting ricocheted over the tombstones. 

"There they are," the old man - Gaius - muttered.

He glared at the cat, comfortably seated and clearly unimpressed, and sighed when the sound of unfurled wings took over the graveyard, followed by a weird clicking sound. Nothing, not even how the night had unfolded so far, could have prepared Arthur for the sight of an owl, landing right on the orange cat and hooting menacingly - its entire body made of bones and nothing else.

A stray cat and a dead bird. Arthur would have seen it all.

"That damned bird, I swear..."

"Hush, dear," the woman replied, as it seemed to be her preferred way of addressing the other ghost. "You know those two love Merlin very much."

Gaius shook his head and muttered under his breath as he moved away, clearly out of patience. The woman smiled, looking amused at the old man's antics, and turned to Arthur :

"He will wake up soon," she said gently, her assurance enough to calm Arthur's growing worry. "He just needs to keep warm for now. Oh, and when he does wake, please make sure he gets some warm food and a proper sleep. That boy would try to raise the dead again, if no one was there to stop him. And," she added with a scolding finger, "don't try to get it on. Not until he's properly rested."

Parting shot delivered, she disappeared under Arthur's bemused eyes. His mouth closed with an audible click as he looked down at Merlin, and he blinked repeatedly to shake off the astonishment at having been berated by a ghost, no less, that thought he would have tried to have sex with a necromancer - in the middle of a graveyard.

Arthur shuddered, skin flushing. Forcibly putting the thought out of his mind, he shrugged off his coat, dislodging the cat in order to use the coat as a cover. The cat meowed indignantly at him, planting tiny claws in Merlin's shirt, but it obediently moved when it realized what Arthur wanted to do. The owl, for its part, stared Arthur down with big empty eye-sockets before reluctantly moving away, and Arthur diligently tucked the warm coat over Merlin's body before rolling up his scarf to use as a pillow.

When he was done, he sat back on the ground, taking Merlin's hand - too cold in his own - as he waited for the necromancer to wake. The cat and the owl tentatively joined him in his vigil, the owl perching itself on his shoulder, as if testing him out, and the cat curling back onto Merlin's chest, to share some of its warmth.

As the sky lightened bit by bit, Arthur's mind turned back to his mother. He knew it would take him some time to process the night ; having seen and talked to his mother for the first time was a uniquely harrowing and yet beautiful experience, but losing her again proved to be hard, as he was already thinking of other questions he could have asked, other stories he could have told.

One thing was certain, though : no matter the turn his relationship with Merlin would take, he would never, ever ask him to bring his mother back again.

The sun was peeking mischievously above the lingering clouds when Merlin blinked his eyes open, his nose crunching in a rather adorable manner as he seemed to struggle to remember where he was.

"Kil ?" he mumbled, frowning at his Arthur's-coat-covered chest and the big orange ball over it. "What are you doing here ?"

His eyes drifted to Arthur, who was still holding his hand, and his cheeks pinkened. As Arthur pulled back his hand as if burned, Merlin widened his eyes :

"Archie ?? How are you even here ?"

His voice was hoarse yet strong enough to convey his astonishment. As the cat started purring loudly on his chest, he chuckled and petted it distractedly, blue eyes still wide as they went from Arthur to the owl - and what kind of a name was Archie ?

"Those two were worried about you," Arthur said off-handedly, and Merlin blushed at the implied And I was, too. "How are you feeling ?"

"As if I'd just crawled out of the grave," Merlin instantly joked, smile bright despite the purple bag under his eyes.

Arthur frowned deeply, hands twitching, and Merlin bit his lip :

"Too soon ?"

"Why yes Merlin, I believe it will always be too soon for that."

Merlin had at least the decency to look sheepish, but his demeanor quickly relaxed :

"Well, it's not as if you'll be around to hear me say it," he replied benignly.

At that, Arthur raised a dubious eyebrow, and a delighted chuckle escaped Merlin's lips, to the greatest dismay of Kil-the-orange-cat.

"Not freaked out yet ?" he asked, and though his tone was amused, his eyes were telling a different - hopeful - story. "Not even by the dead owl on your shoulder ?"

Arthur let out a put-upon sigh and deliberately didn't answer :

"What is it, even ?"

"Oh," Merlin replied, totally unconcerned, "that's Archimedes, my familiar."

At Arthur's fixed stare, he added, pointing at himself :

"Necromancer, remember ? I just brought him back. He didn't want to stay dead and his spirit was disturbing the other ghosts. And that's Kilgharrah," he added as the cat meowed, seemingly feeling left out. "An old friend."

"You," Arthur muttered, "are by far the weirdest man I've ever met."

"Ah, but in a good way, right ?" Merlin replied, cheeks dimpling. 

Arthur sighed again, long suffering.

"Yes, Merlin," he replied, "in a good way. Now come on. I'm cold and you need sleep."

It's only then that Merlin seemed to realize he was covered by Arthur's coat, because he blushed deeply and hurried to straighten up, so dizzyingly fast that Arthur had to stop him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Careful," he admonished.

They stood together, Arthur holding Merlin upright until he stopped swaying.

"Right," he mumbled. "Definitely sleep. And then we'll talk. Yeah."

Suddenly reminded of a very important thing he had to say, Arthur gently grabbed Merlin's wrist, pulling at him so that they were face to face.

"Arthur ?"

"There's something I need to tell you," Arthur said firmly, "and I don't think it can wait. My mother," he added softly. "She told me I should tell you something."

Merlin raised his bright blue eyes at him, weary and curious both, though he was biting his lip, proof of his nervousness.

"Yes ?"

"She said," Arthur stated, deliberately slowly, "Tell him that his father knows. Tell him that he's proud of his son."

Merlin's mouth fell open in shock and his eyes widened, a suspiciously bright sheen covering them. He looked so terribly young then, and Arthur felt angry all of sudden, that a man like this, with such raw power, seemingly didn't know something as simple as the fact that his father was proud of him.

And that despite the fact that he endured exhaustion over and over again, only to help others, to offer them the same invaluable gift he did Arthur.

Arthur gently squeezed the hand he was holding as tears started rolling down Merlin's cheeks, desperately silent.

"Thank you, Arthur," he murmured, voice choked off by the raw emotion coursing through him. "It means...it means a lot."

That, Arthur could understand, he figured, how much it could mean to get that reassurance from a deceased parent, especially after having craved it all his life.

"No, Merlin," he sighed, smiling softly. "Thank you."

Merlin chuckled lightly, smiling through the tears that he quickly wiped with the back of his hand.

"Gods, we're a pair, aren't we ?" he said, and Arthur could see how hard he was trying to cover up the emotion, to bottle it all up so that he could let il all out later, once he was alone in his grief.

And yet, Arthur thought, if he had his way, Merlin would never have to be alone.

"I suppose so," he replied, a slow smile spreading on his lips. "Or we could be, at least."

Silence lingered for a second as Merlin's mouth fell open, half-stunned and half-awed by the absurdity of the situation :

"Are you asking me out ?"

Arthur looked away, pursuing his lips :

"Maybe ?" he replied, drawing out the sound.

Merlin blinked at him, bemused.

"We're in a graveyard," he pointed out.

"We are," Arthur acknowledged. "Your favored workplace, if I remember well."

A slight twinkle appeared in Merlin's eyes, both fond and amused, and he vainly tried to smother a smile :

"There are ghosts around," he said, as if that mattered in any - relevant - way.

"They're ignoring us," Arthur replied innocently, shrugging as Merlin raised a doubtful eyebrow. "You said so yourself."

Merlin pursued his lips then, and Arthur knew his next remark would be the only one that mattered to him.

"We're both dealing with rather heavy stuff, you realize that ?"

Arthur looked away, tilting his head in thought.

"Well, yes," he replied. "It's not as if we're the only ones, though, is it ? Grief is a funny thing like that. But we could help each other out. Share our burdens and all that."

Merlin studied him intently, silent for so long that Arthur sighed :

"You know, if you don't want to, you can say no. I won't withhold payment from you or anything."

At that, a wide smile spread on Merlin's lips, like the sun finally peeking out of the clouds after days spent in the pouring rain.

"Oh no, I'd love to. I was just thinking I've never been asked out in a graveyard. People are so missing out on the romantic possibilities."

Arthur laughed heartily, dislodging a disgruntled owl from his shoulder. Merlin grinned, pleased.

"Stranger things have happened," Arthur replied sagely.

At Merlin's raised eyebrow, he added :

"You keep a dead bird as a pet, Merlin."

"Shh," Merlin hissed, holding out his arm so that the owl could land on it. "You're going to upset Archie."

He then delicately petted the tiny bird's head, not seeming fazed in the least that he was touching bones and nothing else. Arthur watched fondly as the owl hooted, gently biting Merlin's fingers. That was a sight he could definitely get used to.

"What then ?" he wondered.

"Food," Merlin replied, his whole face lighting up as he guided Arthur toward the metallic gates at the entrance of the graveyard, Kil-the-orange-cat on their heals. "You're buying."

"Why me ?" Arthur grumbled indignantly. "You're the one who just gained an obscene amount of money !"

"Because you're rich," Merlin replied off-handedly, grinning at Arthur's token protest. "And because gentlemen always pay for the first date, and I am definitely not one."

Arthur sighed, not even trying to argue the point, giddy with warmth and budding affection.

"Alright," he gave in easily. "And then ?"

"Then sleep," Merlin mused. "Lots of it."

"And then ?" Arthur asked, deliberate.

Merlin stopped walking then, smiling, and leaned in to press a delicately chaste kiss on Arthur's cheek.

"And then," he replied, voice soft like a promise.

And behind them, the wind caressed the tombstones of the graveyard, warm like a mother's blessing - and a father's pride.


End file.
